outsider
by khepriia
Summary: [Armin and Annie.] There are a hundred thousand questions that Armin could ask her, but the one he goes with is, "what is the outside like?"


There are a hundred thousand questions that Armin could ask her, but the one he goes with is, "what is the outside like?" His fingers curl around iron bars, squeezing, his grip alternating between tight and loose.

Annie is silent, save for the sound of her moving, the crinkle of fabric on fabric, the clanking of metal restraints, and the quiet hissing from her slow healing wounds. Her expression is hard to make out in this small dungeon room illuminated only by the torchlight from the hallway, but Armin imagines that maybe her lips are in a small nostalgic, bitter smile as she remembers the landmarks that lead her to home. The quiet stretches for longer than a minute, both of them breathing humid, stifling air. "There's the sun, and sometimes there isn't," she says finally. "And if you stay awake until nightfall, sometimes there's the moon."

One of the two stationed military police guards snerks in response and mutters a derisive "were you _really_ expecting something exciting?" and the other groans, shushing her. Temporarily distracted, Armin's head moves with each sound. He can't make out either of their expressions either, not in this dark, but he can feel his cheeks growing red, embarrassed and flustered, annoyance slowly ebbing in. "That's not," he says, and for a moment, he isn't sure if he's talking to Annie or the guard with the wavy hair, murmuring flippant sorries. To Annie, refocus to Annie. "That's not," the answer that he wanted, that's not what he meant. It's not what he needs, a detail, any detail that can lead them to Eren. She's mocking him, "… what the others said when I asked them."

"The _others_," she deadpans.

"Reiner and Bertolt. When I asked them." There is no point in hiding their identities now, not when she's here underground and there is only insight to gain from what she says from here… if she says anything at all. Armin isn't really sure if she believes him or not, but he wouldn't be too surprised if she didn't trust him. He wouldn't trust him… not when, not after.

She lifts her head slowly, almost sluggishly, her gaze finally on Armin. "Ah. What a _good_ idea."

He imagines her wide-eyed for a moment, and feels vague guilt. No, he thinks, this is not the time to have any regrets. He wasn't wrong. He steels himself again.

Her arms start crackling, the seething vapour growing louder, and Armin watches them, making out that she has pale pink flesh beyond her elbow now. It's painful to hear because it reminds him of Eren, the way that titan flesh sang whenever he emerged from it, and awe-inducing because there are so many things about Annie that he wonders about. She hasn't seen sunlight for almost a week, but her limbs continue to regenerate slowly and steadily. Her face contorted in pain when sharp steel penetrates raw, newly born flesh but beyond the initial hitch of her voice, she still manages to speak calmly, quiet as ever, sometimes even tauntingly. When there aren't eyes on her, what does her face look like, what do her words sound like? "But why ask me?" Annie asks, still, calm, and quiet, maybe even vulnerable. "Didn't you look too? Didn't you see?"

Dread begins accumulating, heavy in his organs.

Annie continues, "You're from Shiganshina District. You should know what the outside is like."

His knuckles are white from how firmly he's grasping her iron bars, fingernails digging into the palm of his hand. He needs to breathe, to release the carbon dioxide that's accumulating, but the air is thick, damp with unwelcome titan vapour.

"Armin," she whispers, her voice growing frantic and excited. "Weren't we _nice_ to show you? Weren't we _good_ to you?"

This isn't the time to be remembering, Armin thinks.

"What did _you_ see? Tell me. What was the outside like?"

The room grows quiet again and Armin forces himself to breathe and for dread to dissipate. There is no insight to gain, not now, not when she's like this. Leaving now seems cowardly, he thinks, as if he's running away, but he knows when he isn't being effective with his words, his effort. After all, he has nothing he needs to prove to Annie Leonhardt anymore. He lets go of metal, flexing numb fingers.

It takes him a moment to adjust his eyes to the brighter hallway, and the air beyond the door is cooler, less stifling. He lets go of the sigh he has been holding. He walks, one step at a time. He passes Erwin Smith, who is alone and illuminated by the torchlight in his hand. When he reaches the end of the corridor, he hears the sound of the heavy, wooden door closing and he turns.

The two military police guards are now outside, not inside, Annie's dungeon cellar.


End file.
